Salt, Water, Ashes
by CarryOnMyWaywardDaughters
Summary: It's November, 1983. The occupants of Harvelle's Roadhouse are riddled with cabin fever and itching for a hunt. Mysterious drownings, a man found dead and mutilated in a locked bathroom. Just what the doctor ordered. Pre-series (obviously). Ellen before she was Ellen Harvelle. Lots of humor and a hint of weechesters and other fun stuff. Bobby Singer guest stars.Rated-minor language
1. Chapter 1

November, 1983

"Winter can bite my frozen ass. No, that's not an invitation to touch it, Harvelle."

William Anthony Harvelle, or 'Bill' to everyone but his mother—god rest her soul—threw his gloved hands up defensively. "Wouldn't dream of it Ellen. Besides, my fingers are so frozen I couldn't tell if I was touching you or a block of ice. Not that there's a difference—ow!"

"Ow!" Ellen clutched her freezing, stinging fingers. Backhanding Bill had backfired.

"Serves you right."

The slope down to the river was gentle, but ice and wind had turned the whole thing into a treacherous, bumpy sheet, snapping with each step. Jagged rocks cropped up here and there, waiting to snag unwary feet. A heavy blanket of fog shrouded everything. The small copse of trees was only a few yards from the wide, sluggish river. Yet Ellen could barely see the one and only hear the other. Aside from the trees, everything was barren, empty. An early freeze left many of the leaves dead on the branches like little hangmen swaying and rattling in the wind, little corpses of a summer gone too soon.

Ellen was conscious of the gun holstered beneath her jacket. A constant weight, reminding her why she was here. She was here to hunt a monster, not sightsee. Not that there was much to look at. The wide, rocky beach might look devoid of life, but if she took that for granted she was dead. Just like many before her. They didn't know what she knew, but even hunters made mistakes. It only took one mistake.

The still air shrouded them, swirling around their feet with each step. Cold seeped through her jacket, squeezing in the small gap between her hood and scarf. Cold spots were impossible to detect this time of year, so there was no telling if a ghost was near. Bill followed Ellen into the tight gathering of trees. What little light the veil of clouds allowed dimmed. The air seemed thicker here. Ellen's breathing grated her ears, harsh and loud. This was where the latest victims were last seen alive.

The article that led them to this godforsaken town clearly might as well had "Killer obviously a ghost" as it's headline. Every door and window locked, no sign of forced entry. Just puddles of water, blood, and...other things you might expect to find in a bathroom. However, the more they dug into the town's history the less it looked like a haunting. Sure, there were similar deaths over the years, but never in the same building or street. Then there were the drownings. Any town by a river would have them, but that didn't come close to explaining those.

Like the snapping of teeth through bone, Bill's boot cracked a frozen twig. A large, dark shape rose from the mist before them. Fog swirled, disturbed by the sudden movement. Ellen almost jumped out of her frozen skin. Heart pounding, she reached instinctively for her pistol but didn't draw it. A man stood in front of them—At least it looked like a man. After a moment, she realized he was still half crouched. His sunken eyes were wild with fear at first, but then a wide, friendly smile replaced the fear. Fear still lingered around the corners of his eyes, and he held the smile too long for it to be real. Straightening, he rose to his full height; despite the incline, Ellen still had to look up to see him. She took an involuntary step back. He looked at her, glanced at Bill, and then turned his attention back to her. The smile still didn't fade.

"Well, hey there gorgeous!" He had a deep and gravelly voice, in a pleasant sort of way. The flirtation slid out effortlessly. Too easily. He stood at least half a head taller than Bill, but despite being well built, he looked gaunt, as if he'd recently lost more weight than he could afford to. Sunken cheeks and eyes gave him a look as bleak as their surroundings. The dark, stubble beginnings of a beard covered the lower half of his face. It was a handsome face, despite everything. Under other circumstances, he would be a charmer.

Ellen frowned at him, recoiling a little. It wasn't just the greeting that bothered her. After working at Harvelle's—the saloon Bill ran—and other places before that, she was used to that kind of talk. She might hate it, but she was used to it. No, that wasn't what bothered her. What bothered her about his greeting bothered her about his smile. They were fake. Rehearsed and thrown out like a shield.

"What are you doing out here?" Bill managed to spit out. He tilted his head to look the stranger in the eyes.

"Just out for a walk. You?" The stranger kept his voice light, but there was tightness there too. Hands shoved into pockets, arms clenched close to his sides. His eyes flickered back and forth between them. He looked to either side, behind his shoulder, trying to see a path around them.

"Uh..." Bill had to think about that. He glanced sideways at Ellen, his mouth hung open like a mounted bass. They hadn't expected to see anyone out here. It wasn't exactly a big town, probably less than a thousand people. There were more empty houses than occupied. They hadn't even thought of a cover story. Rather stupid of them.

Ellen stepped forward, addressing the stranger. "A man was found dead here. You shouldn't be anywhere near here." She narrowed her eyes, suspicious. Ellen trusted her gut, and her gut told her this man was hiding something. If he was actually a man at all. Given her experience, he probably wasn't. Tall, dark, and handsome; and right in the middle of a murder scene.

"Whoa, really?" His thick eyebrows shot up. He blinked in surprise. It might have worked if he'd wiped the lingering smile from his face sooner. "Guess I'll be on my way then." He shrugged, hands still in his pockets. He inched up the slope to their left. "Don't want to be the next guy."

All friendly conversation and smiles. Not exactly the usual reaction to finding out someone died where you're standing.

Bill and Ellen turned themselves, unwilling to have the stranger at their backs. He did the same, facing them as he backed away. Circling each other like predator and prey. She felt, rather than saw, Bill reach for the silver knife he kept up his sleeve. He didn't like to take the chance of becoming prey. The river sloshed fitfully behind them now. Her hand twitched towards her pistol. They'd worked together long enough to know each other's moves. They were a good team, working in tandem. Bill was quick, and Ellen had wicked aim. If this were their critter, it would be in for one hell of a fight.

Any remnant of the smile faded. Brow furrowed, his eyes flickered over Bill's face down to his hand. Sizing him up. He'd go for Bill first then, leaving himself open to Ellen's shot. She stepped to the side, giving herself more room to cover Bill. She could only hope that the stranger didn't have claws. She always hoped the men she ran into didn't have claws. She would have to be quick.

The stranger's head snapped up, looking over Ellen's head towards the River. He grimaced, cocking his head to one side. "What the hell is that?"

Reflexively, Bill and Ellen looked over their shoulders. It was a stupid reflex, and in any other situation, it would get them killed. Ellen cursed, whipping her head back in time to see the stranger sprinting through the edge of the trees and across the open gravel. She sped after him without hesitation, sprinting through the edge of the trees, forgetting the thin layer of ice. He—or it—was fast, but Ellen was no slouch. The distance between them didn't close, but he didn't get any farther either. Ellen's feet skid on the ice; one foot flew in the air. She fell back, arms flailing. There was a crack as her backside hit the ground, pain biting through the numbing cold. She groaned, going limp as she regained her breath. The thick hood of her jacket shielded her head from the ice and rocks beneath her. She could hear Bill laughing and turned her head to glare at him.

He was a few feet behind her, hands on knees as he doubled over. "I'm—I'm sorry." He wheezed, shaking head and hands apologetically. "Are you okay?" His whole body shook with laughter. "That looked like something straight out of the three freaking stooges!"

Ellen laughed in pain, giving Bill a thumbs up. She turned her head painfully the other way and saw the stranger off in the distance, disappearing into the fog. So much for giving heroic chase.

After a minute, Bill was able to quit laughing at her long enough to finally help her up. Not that she needed the help, but it was still rude of him to stand there laughing. Bill waved the way the stranger ran, dismissing him. Jerk was still laughing at her. "He's long gone. Not likely our critter, besides."

Ellen put her hands on her hips, still glaring at him. It didn't carry as much weight after her banana peel slip, unfortunately. "So what, you want to just forget about him? Even if he's not a monster, him being here is suspicious. He probably knows something."

Bill rolled his eyes. "No, that's not what I'm saying. We can find him later. You just want to catch up with him cause he flirted with you."

If she wasn't mad before, she was now. The idea that some blatant, rehearsed line would get to her…Bill should know better. He'd tried enough of them when they first met to know better. She couldn't think of anything to say in reply, so she settled for glaring at Bill. Again. "How about we just go back, see what he was doing?"

The ground around where the stranger knelt was disturbed. Aside from boot tracks, everything else looked older. A paper-thin layer of snow obscured everything. A wide swathe of dark, gritty ice led down the hill to the water's edge. It went against the natural slope, switch backing through the barren trunks. Ellen wasn't any kind of tracker, but it looked as if someone—or something—had been dragged. Then again, she wasn't a tracker, so she let Bill take the lead. She never saw the little, subtle patterns in the ground until he pointed them out to her. Even then, most of the time she still didn't see them. She just trusted Bill.

"There." Bill pointed a ways down the slope. A dark winter cap stuck out from the ice, partially submerged. He approached the cap carefully, Ellen following, looking intently at the ground. He stopped unexpectedly. Ellen bumped into him and Bill slipped on the ice, falling back onto her. In a vain attempt to steady him she grabbed his shoulders, her own foot slipping. For the second time in less than ten minutes, Ellen found herself on the ground, backside throbbing. This time, she had Bill on top of her, practically sitting on her. His thick head nearly cracked hers. She spat out fluff from his hat.

Bill rolled off. His belt dug into her stomach. She pushed him the rest of the way, gritting her teeth. Stupid ice.

Bill cracked a smile as he helped her up again. At least he wasn't laughing at her this time. "Hey, hey Ellen." She heard the echo of what he must have sounded like as a teenager. Ellen narrowed her eyes. He only sounded like that when he was about to make a stupid joke. "Ellen, I think—" He bent over, snickering, before straightening. "I think I just fell for you."

Her heart clenched. Why would he say something like that? Constant teasing. Why did she think it would stop just because they were hunting? The stupid, juvenile prick. Heat rushed to her face. She tightened her lips, raising her eyebrows, unimpressed.

Bill didn't care. He was still laughing as he pointed out what he'd stopped for. "There are tracks, right here."

At some point, the ground had soaked up enough melted snow to turn to mud. Three little tracks, each no bigger than Bill's palm, formed shallow depressions in the refrozen earth. Bill filled one of the depressions with snow, making it easier for her to see. The track was smooth and rounded at the base. At the other end, three prongs stuck out like toes.

"Okay," Ellen said. "What the hell is _that_ from?"

* * *

Enjoyed the story? Tell me! This is the first fanfic I've ever posted—EVER—and I'd love to hear what you think!

Story notes:

Hey everybody! Just a few housekeeping notes.

Firstly, this story is complete (no, it's not just one chapter), so you shouldn't have to worry about me abandoning this. I won't be posting it all at once, because it's part of a series, and I need time to edit those future stories.

Secondly, this is the first in an AU series. Everything is basically the same as what I can interpret from canon, with the only difference being that Sam and Dean were born girls. Yes, this is a genderswap AU. The idea was a 'what if': What if Sam and Dean were born Samantha and Deanna Winchester? What would change, what would stay the same? How would those changes ripple into the future we're familiar with?

That last note won't really come into play in this fic, but I wanted to give a heads up. As a final note, I only changed Sam and Dean. Everyone else is the same.


	2. Chapter 2

Small town diners were a necessary evil. A vinyl covered greasy evil.

"So, we've got Colin Parkin, who died in his—locked—bathroom." Bill nonchalantly took a big bite of burger, onions crunching. Ellen hated onions; the sound, the taste. Blech. Bill spoke around his food. "Then we have our latest victims, Jensen Armstrong and Jared Lewis. They go ice fishing; a neighbor sees something pull Jared through the ice. Calls the cops, but by the time they get there, Jared, Jensen, and whatever got them were long gone. Search party found them both a few hours later, tender bits all mangled and backsides bloody, just like Kevin."

Ellen unconsciously crossed her legs, bumping Bill's under the table. She flinched, leg retreating. He didn't seem to notice or mind, chomping on his burger. She hated little diners like this. Even almost empty, like this one, people were too close. It was too easy for someone to eavesdrop, to hear what they were talking about. They frequently talked about killing—like now, for instance—and civilians jumped to conclusions about things like that.

"These deaths happen every couple of years from what I could dig up. Local legend says it's the ghost of some deformed kid that drowned in the river—by accident or murder." Bill took another big bite of burger.

That didn't seem like what they were after, but it was something. "Any evidence to back that up?" Ellen asked. Having finished her own, she snagged some of Bill's fries.

"Dunno, it's hard to tell which drownings are natural, and which ones are…" Bill paused, burger packed cheek sticking out as he tried to think of an appropriate word. "Not natural." The inflection on the last word made it sound like a question. "Of the kids that died though, half the graves have already been desecrated. We're not the first hunters to look into this."

Ellen pursed her lips. There was a pang of hatred for whatever hunters burned a child's bones without being sure it turned vengeful. Dead or not, spirit or not, that was someone's child they were burning. She took a quick draft of coffee, wincing as it burned its way down her throat. "Those tracks we found by the river didn't look like something a spirit would leave behind." She looked to Bill, who nodded slowly in agreement.

"Yeah, hell if I know what it actually is though, or how it got into that guy's bathroom." He ran a hand through his hair, pulling the brown cap off his head as he did. Shaking melted snow and sweat off like a retriever, he ignored Ellen's attempts to shield her food. "If Danny weren't tied up with that Black Dog in Oregon…"

Ellen sighed. It wasn't the first time she brought this up in the few days they'd been there. "We could call Bobby Singer—"

" _No_." Bill said with an air of finality that would've worked better if he hadn't had two fries halfway into his mouth.

Ellen raised her eyebrows, unimpressed.

Bill sighed. "We'll try this on our own. If— _if—_ we can't figure it out within the next few days, _maybe_ I'll call him."

Ellen rolled her eyes, snagging another handful of Bill's fries. "I don't get what you have against him."

"He drinks too much."

"You own a _bar_."

Bill opened his mouth to reply, and then shut it again as he thought better of it.

Ellen smiled sweetly at him, grabbed a few more fries, and headed to the bathroom. Bill grumbled under his breath as she left. "Be careful."

"Always am."

Bill was chatting up the waitress when Ellen came back from the bathroom. Her eyes narrowed. As much as she wanted to interrupt them, she knew Bill was more than likely scoping for information about their mystery man from earlier. Not that she cared if Bill flirted with some random waitress, except she didn't like the way her stomach knotted when he did.

Bill was good looking, in a country boy kinda way. Despite the strong jaw and beard, he still managed to look boyish. That, along with the blond hair and baby blue eyes, made people underestimate him as a hunter. Ellen sure had. She'd never met another hunter like him. Friendly, happy-go-lucky, and chatty to a fault. Despite all that, Bill could buckle down and handle the worst the supernatural world had to offer. He rolled with the punches and shook off the blood and grime. Took it all with a joke and that same grin he was flashing at the waitress. Ellen didn't know how he did it.

The other, older waitress glared at the one Bill was flirting with as she passed with a tray of food. Still glaring, she set the tray down in front of a man sitting down the counter to Bill's far left. He hadn't been there when Ellen left. Dressed for the bitter weather with a frayed baseball cap and bushy beard obscuring his face. He looked old, late forties maybe early fifties. Ellen wouldn't have paid any attention to him if he weren't paying attention to Bill. He kept his eyes on the kitchen, but his head tilted to the side to better hear what Bill and the younger waitress were saying. Now and then, his eyes flicked to Bill and his lips pressed into a thin line. If Bill noticed, he gave no sign. Ellen was immediately on edge. He could just be a nosy local, but far too focused on Bill for her liking. That kind of attention rarely ended well.

If the attention were on her, she'd buckle down and prepare herself for some 'flattery'. She doubted that's what this man was after, no matter Bill's country boy charms. Maybe the man had designs on the waitress, waiting to mark his territory by picking a fight with Bill. Ellen knew from experience, small town men had little else to do than pick meaningless fights over women they hardly knew.

Ellen fiddled with the stack of newspapers by the door as she waited for Bill to finish up. She kept an eye on the man as well, noting the crutches and cast on his left leg. At least he wouldn't put up much of a fight if he turned out to be trouble. She wasn't sure how she felt about hitting a cripple. She wasn't sure how she felt about that being her first reaction. John Lennon would be so disappointed.

Bill broke away from the waitress with a wink and an air smooch. Ellen rolled her eyes hard. He was a terrible flirt, tried much too hard. He grinned at her as he approached, wagging his eyebrows up and down. Whatever that meant. She fought back a smile. She was only smiling because he smiled. Bill jerked his head towards the door. He didn't have to say anything. She knew what he was asking. Ellen nodded. She was ready to leave.

Bill held the door open for her.

Ellen wasn't sure if she wanted to glare or thank him. She settled for a reproving look. They'd talked about this. At least she knew Bill did it out of habit and not a misplaced sense of chivalry. Either way Bill ignored or didn't notice the look.

The brief temperature spike of the afternoon was wearing off. The nightly chill reaffirmed its hold as the sun crept slowly into the west. It was only a faded blur in the clouds. Ellen was dreading spending another night in the back of Bill's truck with only the shell between them and the elements. It was freezing, cramped, and Bill was a bed hog. She wouldn't go to sleep to the sound of Bill's rhythmic breathing again. It was soothing and she didn't want to think of why. She also didn't want to think of waking up next to him in the middle of the night, having unconsciously moved closer to him for warmth. The heat of his body, the smell of his skin. Roughly, she shook herself back to reality. Screw economy, she was finding a motel room with decent heating. As soon as they had the money to spare for that.

They were almost to Bill's truck when Ellen saw the man exit the diner. In the frosted reflection of another car's window, she saw him look around until he saw them. Then he turned and followed quickly, crutches crunching oddly in time with his good leg. Heart racing, she grabbed Bill's arm, yanking him behind the truck.

"Whoa!"

Ellen pinned Bill against the truck, trying to keep them both out of sight.

Sliding his hands around her waist, he grinned at her. "I should make you jealous more often!"

Ellen shushed him, swatting his hands away. "I think you attracted some unwanted attention."

Eyebrows furrowed, Bill peeked around the edge of the truck. "When?"

She pulled him back by his collar, hissing. "When you were flirting with freaking doe eyes back there, moron!"

Stupid, oblivious Bill. He was a hunter, for god's sake. He should notice things like this. Things like this could get him killed.

The _shuffle thunk_ of crutches sped up, the man coming back into view. Ellen held her breath. He panted a little, stopping briefly to catch his breath. Steam rose from his mouth with each exhale. Not an undead thing following them at least. Ellen savored the simple things in life.

Bill's head cocked to one side. It reminded her strongly of the golden retriever she'd had growing up. Dumb mutt, that one. Way too friendly. Bill suddenly relaxed, stepping out from behind the truck. Her eyes widened in disbelief. She reached out to grab him. This was it. She was going to strangle the idiot.

"Hey, I know you!" Bill said cheerily. He sauntered up to the man, who awkwardly shifted so he could shake Bill's proffered hand. "Fletcher Gable, right?"

The man nodded, and Ellen immediately felt she was the idiot. The man was stocky and grizzled. He looked like half the hunters that came through the roadhouse. She should have realized who and what he was.

"I thought that was you, Bill. You've grown up a bit since I last saw you." The man's tone made it obvious that he approved of the changes he saw. Ellen knew Bill started hunting in his late teens, not quite ten years ago. She wondered if that was the last time Fletcher Gable had seen Bill.

Bill shrugged modestly. "Well, it has been a while."

Fletcher nudged his head towards Ellen. "Who's your friend?"

Ellen realized she'd been peeking around the corner like a lovesick schoolgirl in a teen drama— not a first impression that lent her any credibility. She didn't want to give the old guy any ideas either. Her chin lifted up, offended by the way he had said 'friend'. As if she were one of Bill's hookups instead of a hunter. As if she were an item on the menu to be quarreled over. She stepped out quickly, striding calmly to join the men. Handling situations with confidence was the only way she earned any respect from other hunters. Even then, she had to fight to keep it. One show of softness, of weakness, and it was back to square one. She stood tall, even though both men had at least half a head on her.

"Ellen Pierse." She shook his hand tightly.

Fletcher winced, a faint twitch at the corner of his eye. "Quite a grip you've got there, Ellen."

"Thanks," She replied, knowing it wasn't meant as a compliment. She allowed herself a small, satisfied smile. She could almost hear Bill's smile.

"Ellen's my partner," Bill said proudly.

She turned to glare at him. _Oh great,_ now _he'll take me serious. Way to ruin my credibility, Harvelle._

"My hunting partner," Bill backtracked quickly. This earned him a disbelieving look from Fletcher. Over her hunting or not being Bill's 'partner'— Ellen didn't know. "Not that we—that I wouldn't—right now we're just—".

Fletcher's eyes and lips were tight. He tapped his fingers on the crutch handles, waiting for Bill to finish.

She kicked Bill's shin to shut him up. She addressed Fletcher. "I assume you're here for the same reason we are."

Fletcher nodded. "I hope so." He tapped his cast with one crutch. "I need all the help I can get."


	3. Chapter 3

Hello everyone! If you're reading this, head down to that 'review' button and let me know! You can seriously just say "I read it", that's all I want from you. You can totally say other things of course, I just want to know that people are reading this. I never realized how important reviews are until I started posting my own stuff. There is seriously no way to know how many people have actually read through the whole thing, so I have no idea what to think. I have no idea if anyone is actually reading this story or if anyone likes it. It's very discouraging.

Anyways, enough moping! Here's this weeks chapter!

* * *

Fog obscured the taillights of Fletcher's truck. Bill and Ellen followed him through abandoned town streets. Fletcher hadn't told them much. Ellen thought hunting would be a whole lot easier if hunters talked like normal people. Unfortunately, they didn't, and this one was no different.

"Have you ever actually worked with him before?" Ellen asked. She didn't like working with hunters she didn't know. They were an unpredictable bunch. Not that hunters hurt each other on purpose, but some were more reckless than others. More willing to put others in the line of fire to finish the job. Ellen's hand brushed her thigh. Beneath the denim were scars inflicted by another hunter's knife. A permanent, physical reminder to be careful who she trusted.

Bill drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Kind of." Well, that was reassuring. "He helped me research one of my first hunts, introduced me to a few other hunters. This was before I met Danny." He threw that last bit in, almost pacifying. As if he had to apologize for going to anyone but Danny for advice. "He's been in the game awhile."

Ellen pressed her lips together. There was that at least. "Hmm."

"He's a loner type too, a real shut in."

"So why's a guy like that looking after a civilian, let alone bringing one along to a hunt?" Fletcher threw that curveball at them in passing, as if it wasn't a big deal. It wasn't uncommon for civilians to get caught up in a hunt. But for Fletcher to bring him along afterwards…something was hinky about that. In any case, civilians always complicated things. One more back to watch.

"I don't know, doesn't seem like Fletcher, but then again, I don't know him that well."

Ellen yawned, disinterested. "Oh well. At least he's helping with research."

"I thought you loved research." Bill glanced sideways at her, smirking.

"I don't love it. I just don't hate it as much as you do."

"No one does."

Bill drummed the steering wheel again. She could never figure out what song, if any, he was playing. Bill was never still. He was always moving, even if it was just his fingers. He only went still on hunts, closing down and moving like a machine.

"Any theories?" Where Bill couldn't stand sitting still, Ellen couldn't do silences. Not with Bill anyways. She doubted either of them had any idea what they were dealing with, but she hated having time to think with Bill in the car. She thought too much about him.

The rhythm of his drumming staggered before picking up again. "I'd say kelpie if the M.O. fit better."

She nodded. The only thing that fit was the drownings. "We'd see local legends of dark, spooky horses if that were the case." She thought hard for a moment. "A Phooka?"

"I outta wash your mouth out."

Ellen rolled her eyes.

Bill got serious again. "It's too…malicious to be a Phooka, I think. Drowning's not exactly their style either."

That was definitely true. As a fey creature, Phooka usually acted out of mischief, not malice or hunger. Yet from what she could remember of the lore on Phooka, they usually avoided water. Although, a fey might find drowning and mutilating someone hilarious, so you never knew.

Ellen shrugged. She hadn't expected that to fit anyways. "Well, there's two things it _isn't_. So we've got that narrowed down."

Bill threw his head back and laughed, a smile spreading from ear to ear. It showcased the brilliant white of his teeth. Ellen crushed the flutter in her stomach. She needed to stop making him laugh. It messed with her concentration. Not that she was the only thing that made him laugh. That stupid, genuine laugh of his—it drove her crazy.

Bill turned off the main road, following Fletcher down a long downward drive. Skeleton trees tangled together on each side, giving her the eerie mental image of crooked fingers reaching for the sky. They clawed and mangled each other, bone white as the surrounding snow. The overcast sky blanketed the area in premature darkness, even for November. Fog obscured the windows, and even in the heated cabin, Ellen could see her own breath.

"There's something significant about the mutilation," Bill mused, the drumming on the wheel slowing. Ellen turned in her seat, raising an eyebrow in silent consent for him to continue. "It's too…" He paused, scrunching up his eyes. "Consistent, if that's the right word. Whatever is doing this, it's doing it for a reason."

She bit back a snarky reply. Of course it had a reason. Monsters rarely did anything without reason. Horrible, twisted, unnatural reasons, but reasons even so. That's not what Bill meant, and she knew it. Each monster had its own _modus operandi_. Whatever the mutilation achieved for this monster was it. That's what he was saying. She didn't want to risk him feeling stupid for it and stop following that train of thought. It was a good one. "Maybe Gable has a book that'll tell us why." She said finally, more to fill the silence than anything.

The cabin was a solid building, maybe two stories tall. The ground around it was clear of everything but ice and gravel, and Ellen was grateful. Nothing slinking from branch to roof was a definite plus where she was concerned. She could sleep a little easier tonight. Through the dense fog, she could see a porch wrapped around the front and sides of the cabin. A wisp of smoke rose lazily from the chimney, contrasted against the paler fog. Hallelujah! The place had heating.

As Bill pulled in behind Fletcher, Ellen caught a dull shimmer through the trees. There, not more than fifty feet away, the frozen river snaked its course. A great setup for a comfortable night of research. _Terrible_ location. Ellen would be sleeping with her gun tonight. Just like every other night.

The air nipped at her face the second she opened the door, reluctantly leaving the heat of the truck. At least she wouldn't be sleeping in it tonight.

Fletcher was struggling to mount the stairs with his crutches when they reached him. He was cursing and whacking one of them on the first step. Productive. Ever helpful, Bill took his arm to steady him.

Fletcher tried to shake him off. "I've got it, I've got it," he said dismissively.

Ellen shook her head. Men.

"Well, obviously, you don't," Bill chided matter of factly.

Ellen grabbed Fletcher's other arm. She didn't have Bill's patience. "On three, Bill." Fletcher sputtered in protest. She ignored him. "One, two, three—" Between them, they hoisted Fletcher—crutches clenched under his armpits—up the three steps to the porch.

Moodily shaking them off without so much as a 'thank you,' Fletcher led them into the cabin.

The warm air hit Ellen hard. Her nose tingled at the difference, eyes watering a little as she adjusted. It smelled like pinewood. The interior was open, with high vaulted ceilings. To their right was a small couch and loveseats around a polished wooden coffee table. Directly in front, a wide, open area gave way to a small kitchenette and dining room. The dining room was ceiling-ed by a loft. What immediately drew her attention though (because Fletcher looked at it oddly) was the chair stuck firmly beneath the door to their left. A half circle of salt surrounded it.

"What the _hell_?" Fletcher muttered to himself. He cocked his head towards the loft, calling hoarsely, as if he didn't want to be heard. " _John_?"

Between the kitchenette and dining room was a freestanding flight of stairs. Five or so steps headed towards the back wall before becoming a landing. From there, it turned right to the loft above the dining room. Haphazard columns of books covered the landing. They threatened to topple onto the limp figure laying there. Ellen could see the dark soles of boots and muddy denim. Fletcher stumped swiftly towards the landing, calling again, louder this time. "John!"

The man shot upright as if electrocuted. His tousled dark hair doubled the impression. Fletcher slowed down, reasonably convinced there was nothing wrong. Ellen breathed out a sigh of relief, and then inhaled sharply. John was well built, but gaunt, as if he'd recently lost more weight than he could afford to. Ellen recognized him immediately.

"Son of a—!" Ellen bit off the curse and Bill threw his head back, laughing. It was him. The 'hey gorgeous,' tall, dark, and handsome jerk wad. That explained what he was doing at the copse earlier. He was helping Fletcher.

John's already wide eyes grew larger as he saw them, head titling to the side in surprise. "Who?" Eyes narrowing, he glanced at Fletcher. "Why are they here?"

Fletcher glanced at them before turning back to John. "They're people like me," he said vaguely. John's eyes tightened in response but he said nothing. A flicker of realization dawned in Fletcher's eyes. "Are these the two you saw earlier?" John nodded and Fletcher gave a brief bark of laughter. The sudden humor made Ellen jump. Fletcher turned back to them. "The scare you gave him earlier…" He trailed off, shaking his head and still laughing.

John stood and made his way down the stairs, scowling. Despite the obvious weight loss, John was a big guy. Broad shouldered, arms thick with muscle. As he came closer, looming over them, Ellen suddenly got the feeling she didn't want to be on his bad side. "I told you, they looked just about ready to stab me." He looked to them. "Was I wrong?"

Bill was biting back laughter. He had the grace to look a little sheepish. "Nah. Sorry 'bout that."

"You usually stab people when you meet them?" John grumbled. She was a little surprised at how serious the question was.

Right. Civilian.

"Only if they try to stab me first," Bill said, smiling, bouncing on his toes. Little mutt was enjoying this, for whatever reason. Ellen wanted to elbow him in the ribs. "In our defense, we kinda thought you might be the critter that's been attacking people."

Ellen had thought John's frown couldn't get any deeper. She was wrong.

"Thanks." His voice was thick with sarcasm. The fake smile from earlier was nowhere in sight. John's eyes were sunken, rimmed with dark circles. He looked like he hadn't slept in weeks. Arms tensed at his sides, fists half clenched.

Fletcher cocked a thumb at the jammed doorway. "What's with the bathroom?"

John's scowl cleared up, replaced with a tight, pissed off smile. It wasn't any better than the scowl or the fake smile from earlier. "Oh, that. We had an unexpected visitor about a half hour after you left." John stopped, looking over Fletcher. "Speaking of, I thought you went to get food."

Fletcher looked down at his own hands. He swore. "It's out in the truck."

Bill stopped him from stumping out the door. "I've got it." He was out the door before Ellen or Fletcher could stop him.

 _Thanks for leaving me alone with strangers, Harvelle._

Ellen could feel beads of sweat forming at the small of her back. The fireplace was crackling behind her. For the first time that day, she could actually feel her toes. She shrugged off her coat, tossing it onto one of the loveseats. Her scarf and gloves followed quickly. Neither Fletcher nor John had spoken.

The mantle and walls behind her bore the weight of trophies. A hunter's cabin, but not their kind of hunter. Stuffed deer, bear, and moose stared at her with beady eyes. Unsettling, but nothing compared with the things she'd seen. Still creepy though. Weirdest of all was a large, stuffed squirrel dead center above the fireplace. Ellen frowned at it. Who the hell kept a squirrel as a trophy?

John and Fletcher were still silent, not looking at each other. Or her.

"So," Ellen began, feeling awkward in the silence. "The bathroom?"

John closed his eyes, shaking his head with that same tight smile. He jerked his chin towards the bathroom. "Yeah. Something tried to get in through the toilet."

She laughed, little more than a brief exhale through her nose. "What?" There was an odd echo as Fletcher asked the same question one beat after she did. The _toilet_?

John gave a similar huff of laughter. He looked down his feet. "Thank god, something that _is_ weird to you people." It was quiet, almost to himself.

Fletcher looked a little red in the face. "It's _in the bathroom_?" He took a breath, about ready to blow a gasket as he turned to face the bathroom door. As if he expected something to burst out of it. Ellen would've expected the same thing, except—

"Untwist your britches; I said it _tried_ to get in." John rolled his eyes. He mouthed something uncomplimentary at Fletcher, who was still scrutinizing the door.

"Then what's with the salt?" Fletcher asked.

John shrugged, hands shoved in his pockets. "I don't know." His voice broke briefly, betraying how out of his depth he actually felt. He masked it quickly. "You've been pouring the stuff around every other door and window; I thought it'd do _something_."

"How do you _know_ it hasn't gotten _into_ the bathroom?"

"I don't." John spoke through clenched teeth. "That _why I stuck the chair there_. " He took a deep breath to calm himself. It was a visible struggle. Fists shaking, teeth grinding. John took another deep breath. Some tension left his body, fists uncurling. A gust of wind on Ellen's back announced Bill's return. "Aside from that, when flushing it didn't work, I stuffed it down with the plunger."

Bill laughed from behind her. "Bad burrito? What the hell did I miss?"

Ellen sighed heavily, covering her eyes with one hand. Really, Bill?

To her surprise, John actually cracked something akin to a smile at that. "Oh, you know, just the usual monster trying to cop a feel through the toilet."

Bill grimaced, fighting back a snigger. "Wow. Okay, what the hell is this thing?"

John surprised all three of them this time. "Between that and what we"—he gestured to Fletcher and himself—"Saw the other night, I think I might know." He motioned for them to follow him back to the dilapidated piles of books on the landing. He grabbed one from the floor where he'd lain earlier. He made to pass it to Fletcher, thought better of it (crutches and all), and handed it to Bill. Ellen peeked over his arm.

The pages were brittle with age, not quite yellowing. She was willing to bet there was a copy of the tome back at the Roadhouse, or at Bobby's. Even if all old books looked pretty much the same, this one looked familiar. The writing was a hodgepodge of English and what looked like Chinese characters. There were a few pictures, featuring a stumpy little thing that looked to Ellen like a turtle crossed with Moe Howard, but uglier. It stood on two legs, had a shell, and something circular like a dog bowl on its head. She had to admit its feet—squat, three toed things—looked like the tracks they'd seen. It was hard to believe it could fit through piping though.

John stuck his hands in his pockets. "Obviously, I can't read half of what that says, but from what I _can_ read, that thing's called a Kappa. Some sort of Japanese river monster." So the writing was Japanese kanji. Fantastic. She couldn't read that either. "It drowns its victims and then pulls something—it's written in English but no way in hell I know how to say it—out their ass."

Ellen felt Bill clench his thighs beside her. She was doing the same. They both grimaced, groaning in unison.

"Ugh."

"Nasty way to go."

Fletcher didn't look convinced. "That would explain the mutilation, but—"

John cut him off with a glare. "It apparently drips when on land—which would explain why you slipped and fell." Ah, _that's_ what happened to fletcher's leg. John lifted a finger to stop Fletcher interrupting again. "It looks like what we saw the other night, and finally, one of the most common ways for it to kill people is by getting grabby through the plumbing."

"Wait," Bill interrupted. "Did it try to grab your—" He cut himself off, shuddering and shaking his head in disgust. "Never mind."

Fletcher looked subdued. "You turned out to be useful after all," he said grudgingly.

Ellen could feel the sudden tension in the air. John's dark eyes flared with anger. She could see his pockets bulge from his fists. His lips flinched back in a brief snarl before pressing into a hard line. Clenching his teeth, he took a breath to fire back a reply.

A wailing cry came from the loft above them. They all froze.

Ellen looked cautiously at Bill. "Did you—"

"Yeah, I heard it too."

John slowly closed his eyes tight, covering his face with one hand. The tension left his body, suddenly looking small and vulnerable without it. "Please god, go back to sleep."

There was a shaky intake of breath, then a louder cry. John turned and bolted up the stairs, knocking over a pile of books. They thudded heavily on the landing. He hesitated, moving towards the books momentarily before another cry had him taking the stairs two at a time.

After a stunned moment, Bill and Ellen followed him, more out of curiosity than anything else. Ellen noticed for the first time the line of salt at the foot of the stairs. There was another one on the landing, and one midway up the stairs from that. Another salt line graced to top of the stairs. John's work, obviously. Fletcher would know that only lines on windows and doors were necessary. This was a waste of salt lines, and useless besides.

There were four beds in the loft, two to each wall. Salt surrounded the bed on the far left. There were two people on the bed. Well, two children. The older one-a girl- blonde hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, was trying to shush the screaming bundle in the center of bed. A baby. A. _Freaking_. Baby. Of all the things Ellen wasn't prepared for, this was high on the list. The baby's little face scrunched up, mouth opened as wide as it could go. Something so small should not be able to make a sound that loud. She wanted to cover her ears, to shut out the noise. Instead, she stared in open-mouthed shock as John rushed over and picked it up. John held the baby close, cradling its head, bouncing, rocking back and forth in a vain effort to sooth it.

This was…unexpected.

Bill leaned to look past John. He waved awkwardly. "Uh, hey there kiddo!"

The little girl looked about five years old by Ellen's guess. She was unkempt, and her little nightie needed a wash. She slid off the bed behind John in response to Bill's greeting, clinging to John's pant-leg. Her knuckles were white. One of John's hands slipped away from the baby to stroke her head reassuringly.

"It's okay, Deanna. These people are friends of Mr. Gable." His voice was soft, reassuring. The previous anger and frustration vanished. It was…fatherly.

Ellen's mouth snapped shut as that sunk in. Fletcher brought a father _with children_ along on a hunt? What on earth was he _thinking_? That thing tried to get in—it could have killed them. Ellen's mind flashed to the records of drowned children. Unconsciously, she moved forward.

The little baby squirmed in John's arms. Its eyes locked on Ellen and its shuddering cries turned to something between a laugh and a whine. The baby leaned over and reached for Ellen.

Ellen knew how to mix a cocktail, salt and burn a ghost, and kill all manner of monsters. What she didn't know anything about were children. People always assumed that because she was a woman she knew everything there was to know about babies. Ellen didn't have a clue. She liked kids, but she never felt she was…good with them. Always saying or doing the wrong thing. Panicked, she shrank back.

"Uh…"

John looked just as confused by the baby's mood swing as Ellen was. He struggled to keep hold of the wiggling infant, who kept reaching for Ellen with that needy coo. The baby furrowed its eyes at Ellen, as if trying to get a better look. Then its little bottom lip stuck out and its face contorted back into that ear-splitting wail. It grabbed little fistfuls of John's shirt, face burying in his chest. John froze, arms closing protectively around the baby. He went pale, eyes far away and misty.

The older child had blonde hair, like Ellen's. A father with two kids under the protection of a hunter, but no mother—oh.

 _Oh._

Ellen's stomach dropped like a stone into suddenly cold feet. She turned back down the stairs. Bill grabbed her arm. She shook him off. "I'm going to call Bobby." She didn't wait for a reply, for his argument. She wasn't staying there one more second. The concern in Bill's eyes was enough to make her insides clench. She barely even looked at Fletcher, still at the base of the stairs. He was probably wondering what was going on. Too bad, it was her turn to be close-mouthed. A phone hung on the wall in the kitchen, cord tangled like a hangman's noose.

The phone rang for an obscenely long time. She was used to that with Bobby. Didn't make it any less annoying though.

A baby. Fletcher brought a _freaking_ baby and a Five-year-old along on a hunt. What the hell? Why John and his children were even there was beyond Ellen. Fletcher was probably protecting them but…none of the victims were women. At least none of the recent ones. It was unlikely that John and his family were here because of the…what was it, a Kappa?

The receiver crackled to life. "What?" The voice on the other end snapped.

Ellen smiled in spite of herself. Regardless of circumstance, it was good to hear a friendly voice. "Hey Bobby, grouchy as ever, eh?"

Bobby grumbled. His voice slurred, from sleep or alcohol she couldn't tell. "Whatever it is, I'm sure you and wonder boy can handle it until the morning. Now if you'll excuse me—"

"Hold up Bobby. What do you know about something called a Kappa, or cape-ah? I don't know how to say it. It's some kind of—"

Suddenly, Bobby was all business. The slur left his voice. Sleep, not alcohol. "Japanese Yokai. Nasty critters. It's a kind of trickster in most lore. Helpful if you get it to do what you want, but it'll more n' likely kill ya and eat your liver."

"So it's something you've come across before?" Ellen sighed in relief. This might actually turn out to be an open and shut case after all. She was actually starting to miss the Roadhouse and the cabin fever that came this time of year.

"Yup." Bobby's inflection gave the impression of him stretching. Ellen could see him in his tattered armchair, books and papers cluttered all around. "Don't think I've seen one outside of Japan though. What got you thinking this thing's a Kappa?"

Ellen gave him the shortened version. "We met up with another hunter. Seems like these things drip water and…" She paused, lowering her voice. "…Like to come through the toilet?" She still couldn't believe that. "Before pulling something out of people's butts. For whatever reason." Of all the strange things Ellen ever described about a monster, that was probably the weirdest. Maybe, if they never left Japan, they were actually dealing with something different. She hoped so. Japanese toilet monster was far out, even for her.

"Oh." Bobby sounded surprised. Uh oh. That was never a good sign. "Yeah, sounds like a Kappa. I tell ya, I never looked at a crapper the same way after Japan…"

Ellen grimaced. She really didn't need to know that, but thanks Bobby. "Okay then. It's a Kappa. So how do you kill a Kappa?"

"Well…" She could hear him shifting again. Bobby was fully in hunting mode. "They draw power from water. When they're on land, they store water in a little disc on top of their heads. Knock the water outta that and its weak as anything. That might even kill it right then if you're lucky. Don't try and wrangle it before that though. Kappa might be the size of a toddler but they're strong as a bear and they'll tear ya to shreds just as quick."

Okay, so they'd have to capture it somehow. Get the water out. She was pretty sure there was a net in the back of Bill's truck…

"Any tips on how to lure it to a certain spot?"

"Cucumbers." Bobby answered without hesitation.

"…What?"

"I'm serious, get a whole bunch of cucumbers. Kappa will come runnin'."

Ellen frowned. " _Cucumbers_?" She glanced at the ceiling in disbelief, as if it had a better answer.

"Hey, you asked. Salt works on ghosts, what's so unbelievable about cucumbers?" The growl was back in his voice. Time to retreat.

"Okay, well, thanks Bobby. Guess I'm gonna go get some cucumbers."

Fletcher looked at her weird. She waved him off.

"Wait Ellen, before you go." Bobby sounded rushed; as if he weren't entirely sure he wanted to say it.

"Yeah?"

There was a short pause on the other end. "You n' Bill take care of yerselves." Bobby's voice was subdued.

"Aw, Bobby, you do care."

"Shut up, I mean that. Don't fight this thing near its water source, ya hear? And whatever ya do, don't let it get ahold of you. Thing has a grip like a vise."

* * *

I'll leave you with that lovely thought from Bobby Singer till next week.

And for those of you wondering YES this _is_ a genderbend fic. It's just the two weechesters though. As i've mentioned before, this is the first part of a long series of fics in the same AU. I'll be exploring characters and events from the Winchester backstory (mentioned in show and the published John Winchester's Journal-which is not exactly canon but close enough). You would not believe the amount of time I've spent on this thing. (hint: Months and monthsandmonthsandmonthsandMONTHS)

So leaving a little review to let me know someone's reading it would seriously make my week. or Month.

Thank you all for reading and I'll see you next week!


	4. Chapter 4

"Winter can bite me. It _is_ biting me."

"Ellen." Bill slumped against a tree, cap covering his eyes. "I swear if you complain about the weather one more time, I'm sending you back inside."

"I'd like to see you try," Ellen growled.

John was silent between them, resting against a tree stump. Eyes closed, he lay completely still, arms folded across his chest. Ellen was still against him being here. But it wasn't as if she could toss him over her shoulder and carry him back into the cabin. Not without Bill's help, anyway. It still surprised her just how _big_ John was. Not just tall, but thick and well-muscled. He looked the part of a hunter more than Bill and herself. This was one reason she didn't want him out here. The deeper he stepped into the hunting world, the harder it became to leave. It was a painful truth. One she knew from harsh experience. Ellen never wanted to be a hunter. Not really. Once that veil was removed there was no going back, no unseeing the horror. No matter how far she ran or how deeply she stuck her head in the sand, that world found her. She didn't want that to be John's life.

Not to mention what would happen if this all went sideways. Ellen closed her eyes tight against that thought. John was strictly backup. The Kappa wouldn't get anywhere near him. Ellen would make sure of that. John didn't have to be here, but, in his eyes, the Kappa was a threat. It attacked him, sure, but it could have been Deanna. Ellen still didn't want him out here, but part of her had to admire the ferocity in his desire to protect them. However, that didn't make it a good idea for him to be here. He had kids waiting for him, sleeping in the cabin with Fletcher on guard. She would make sure John was there when they woke up.

The night was heavy around them, squeezing them close to the fire. Ellen found herself wishing that the Kappa would show its ugly face sooner rather than later. The cold was seeping through the many layers of clothing she'd blanketed herself with. Despite the layers, and the heat of the fire, she was freezing. She hated the cold. She hated the Kappa. She hated that she was in the middle of Nowhere, Midwest, freezing _her_ butt off to save somebody else from having their liver ripped out through _their_ butt. She hated the fact that something like that even existed. She hated the fact that neither John nor Bill seemed to mind the cold. But most of all she hated the freezing, snowy weather.

She should be in California or somewhere like that. Wearing flowy, light fabric instead of the stiff utilitarian crap that was much less likely to rip and expose her skin to sharp claws. Perhaps seeing John's perspective on how utterly _strange_ her life was made her rethink her life. Well, that and the cold. Ellen started losing feeling in her face. Yes, she would much rather be in California. Find a quiet beach somewhere. No monsters. No rowdy, drunk hunters trying to cop a feel as she passed out drinks at the Roadhouse. No Bill either, getting under her skin, irritating her with lame jokes. Just sunlight, suntans, and heat. It sounded so _nice._ Hell, even a bigger fire would do.

Ellen grumpily tossed a few twigs into the fire. "Could things be any worse?" she grumbled to herself.

"Someone could be shooting at us." An odd, but valid, observation from John. His eyes were still closed. He'd hardly moved.

"It could be humid," Bill added.

"Touché."

Ellen wanted to throw something at them. Especially Bill. Times like this, she wondered why she'd stuck around Bill and his Roadhouse for so long. She didn't like the majority of hunters that passed through. The hunters treated her as an amenity. Not Bill though. For all his faults, he respected her, gave her credit for all she did. That didn't explain why she stuck around.

A tangled snapping of branches and furious squawking pierced the night. The three of them, caught off guard, rushed into the woods without thinking. Blinded by the afterglow of the fire, Ellen crashed through bushes and branches. They arrived at the writhing net before her eyes finished adjusting. She could barely hear Bill loading his rifle over the Kappa's squalling. Branches shook, the net raining cucumbers.

Good old Bobby. Thank god for fresh greenhouse cucumbers.

A falling cucumber smacked Ellen in the face. At least she hoped that's what it was. Stumbling away, she gripped one of the staying ropes for support.

Things happened quickly then.

Whether from Bill's poor knotting or the Kappa's struggle, the rope snapped loose in Ellen's hand, taking her with it, whipping through the air. She stumbled into John, knocking them both out of the way as the net fell from the skeletal canopy. The Kappa writhed on the ground for a moment before bolting for the river, dragging the net behind it.

The net that also clung to Bill.

Ellen's heart dropped and then flew into her throat. Bill's arms flew out in a vain attempt to steady himself. His feet whipped out from under him, and shock turned to horror as he fell. The length of net pulled taut. He hit the ground hard. Then he slid off into the darkness, pulled by the netting tangled around his feet.

"NO!" Ellen scrambled to her feet and ran after him. Slippery rocks and broken ice shifted under her feet. Water flowed down the shallow slope, fresh off the Kappa's back. A sudden dip appeared in her path and before she could think of how to handle it, she was at the bottom of it. Ellen could hear Bill, hear panicked cries that should never be associated with him. She forced herself to her feet. She didn't register the pain in her right ankle, or that her clothes were sopping wet.

She had to save Bill. Nothing else mattered.

The line of trees broke. Moonlight reflected off the icy river, off the top of the Kappa's head and its scaly skin. It galloped on all fours, not two yards from the water. Bill skidded across the uneven ground, and Ellen's lungs ached as air ripped in and out. Muscles burned, pushed past their limits. The Kappa had nearly reached the bank. Through her blind panic, Ellen realized she would never reach Bill in time.

 _CRACK!_

The Kappa fell forward as if struck. It slid forwards a few feet, driven by its own momentum before stopping. It lay still.

She hadn't stopped running, even when she'd known she couldn't save him. She had to do something. She slipped her unsteady way down the slope, finally skidding to a halt beside Bill. Thank god, his eyes were open. They were wide as a deer in the headlights of his truck, but that meant he was alive and conscious. She threw her arms around him.

He was alive. That was all that mattered.

"Oh god, oh god!" Ellen repeated, over and over again. She felt the back of his head, his cheeks, his jawline, his neck and shoulders, and back up.

He wrapped his arms around her, grunting as he used her to pull himself into a seating position.

"I'm okay!" he exclaimed, breathless. His voice shook, tighter and higher than usual. "Whew, that was exciting! Let's _never_ do it again!"

Ellen laughed and wept silently as she buried her face into Bill's shoulder. She held him tight, pressing her face into the exposed skin where neck met shoulder. Bill's pulse fluttered against her skin, each beat screaming _He's alive! He's alive!_ Bill pressed his lips to her shoulder, squeezing her tighter. They stayed like that for several moments. Bill rubbed small circles in her back, comforting. Ellen gripped his coat so tightly that her semi-frozen fingers burned and tingled.

At an unspoken signal from Bill, she helped him to his feet, untangling the net from his foot. He tested the foot gingerly, wincing as he put pressure on it. He nudged the still form of the Kappa with his foot. "That was a hell of a shot, Ellen. Good riddance."

Ellen, supporting his side, looked sideways at him, raising an eyebrow. "I didn't make a shot."

Bill cocked his head. "Then who—?"

Ice and deadfall cracked behind them. Ellen whipped around, hand flinching to her unused pistol. John skidded to a halt. John breathed heavily, but not out of breath, Bill's rifle gripped in his hand. "Everybody okay?" His eyes shone in the moonlight reflected off the frozen river.

Ellen's mouth dropped open.

Bill voiced what they both were thinking. " _You_ made that shot?"

"Yup. Hope you don't mind, I borrowed your semi-automatic rifle," John said dryly.

Bill chuckled, the ordeal adding a nervous edge to it. "Lord no."

John stepped closer to the Kappa, nudging it with the rifle muzzle. It didn't budge. Just a few feet separated it from a hole in the ice that was already freezing over. Water trickled away from its corpse, and little by little, the Kappa began to shrivel. Ew. "So, what, do we just leave it here?"

Ellen could feel Bill consider it, and then he shook his head. "No. We'd better burn the body, just to cover our bases."

Ellen looked back up the hill and groaned. This was gonna suck.

############################################

Their little fire wasn't quite up to the task of cremating the shriveled remains of the Kappa. Not until Ellen followed a favorite adage of Bill's: When in doubt, use kerosene. Then it went up nicely.

Maybe too nicely.

John was pale in the firelight, stone-faced and stiff. His lips pressed together in a tight line. He couldn't rip his wide eyes away from the fire. His jaw clenched.

Bill, fresh off the post hunt high, was feeling talkative. "That was one hell of a shot, John." Pulled out of his thoughts, John's head snapped towards Bill. "I'm still surprised it took the thing out."

John shrugged. "She said emptying the head dish would kill it. I figured a bullet would do the job just fine."

Bill frowned in belated realization. "Wait…you bullseyed the thing's head from—what? Thirty, forty yards?" John nodded. "At _night?_ "

John nodded again, shrugging.

Bill shook his head, giving a low whistle. " _Damn_. Where'd you learn to shoot like that?"

"Long story." John rubbed the back of his neck, voice flat. Firelight glinted off a metal chain, the kind Ellen only ever saw attached to military dog tags.

The wind shifted, and the acrid smoke hit them like a wall. It smelled like rubber doused in rancid cooking oil and seaweed caught afire. Sadly, she knew that smell from experience. Weird things happened in Portland.

"What an incredible smell you've discovered!" John said, still sarcastic. He spat, disgusted.

"Well, _thanks,_ Han," Bill fired back, laughing.

John actually smiled at Bill for that.

 _Han? What the—wait…_ "Did you two just…" She frowned at both of them. "Did you just reference _Star Wars_ , Bill?" He shrugged, completely unrepentant. Ellen groaned, covering her face.

 _Idiot._

The fire picked up, engulfing the Kappa's shriveled body. John's brief smile disappeared. He shifted, uncomfortable. "Well, I don't think you need me for this." He cocked a thumb back to the cabin, and then gave a brief, awkward wave as he left them.

Ellen watched him as he walked back to the cabin. His broad shoulders hunched down, hands in pockets. She watched him so she wouldn't look at Bill. Bill, standing next to her. Bill, alive and still cracking jokes. Like nothing had happened. Like he hadn't come close to drowning, having his body mutilated. She could feel the heat of his hand, inches from hers. It was in her head, but the heat grew stronger the harder she fought taking it. The Kappa, the hated little demon that almost took Bill from her, was quickly turning to ashes. Not fast enough. She wanted to dump more kerosene on it. That would draw too much attention, unfortunately. John reached the cabin, slipping inside.

She was alone with Bill and her thoughts. Something she desperately wanted to avoid. She couldn't follow John inside. She could not—would not leave Bill after…

Bill's arm went around her. Neither of them spoke. Ellen wasn't sure she wanted him to. She knew she couldn't handle it. Some wall between them had crumbled the moment Bill's life was in danger. Ellen knew she wasn't ready to scale the wreckage. She'd needed that wall like she needed air to breathe.

Bill's curled fingers stroked her side. It felt good, comforting, and _right_. She pulled away, just far enough that Bill stopped, just far enough to put a partition where a wall had been.

"Ellen." Bill turned to her. She knew what he was going to say. She knew—for sure now—she wasn't ready for this.

She shook her head, cutting him off. "Bill, I can't." He didn't move, but his jaw clenched. She felt him pull back mentally as if she'd slapped him. Her heart ached. This wasn't what she wanted; she didn't want to hurt him. Her eyes spilled a traitor tear. Damn smoke. "I can't." Her quiet voice shook. She looked him in the eye. In the dim light of the fire, his eyes were serious and guarded. Her stomach twisted and she turned her head away. "I'm—I'm not ready."

Bill grabbed her shoulders, and for a terrifying moment she was sure he would kiss her. Perhaps that was the initial intention, but no, this was Bill. Bill wasn't that kind of guy. He pulled her in close, arms slipping around her back and cradling her head against his chest. Bill held her tight, like he had at the bottom of the hill in his relief at being alive. "It's okay," he said. "It's…" He paused, and Ellen could almost hear him thinking of a way to say what he meant. "It's…that's okay, Ellen." Not the most successful thinker, but she knew what he meant. She slipped her arms up the front of his coat, gripping his collar tight. She hadn't realized she'd been shivering.


	5. Epilogue

Here it is, the last chapter! I hope you've all enjoyed this as much as I have! If you did, leave a review! It doesn't have to be long or in depth, just let me know what you thought!

* * *

Through the window, Bill could see Ellen. She was already in the truck, feet propped on the dash. Her head rested against her hand, arm thrown over the seat. Her blonde hair caught the sun and she was glaring at him. She was beautiful.

Bill turned back to Fletcher, still smiling like an idiot. He couldn't help it. Despite his unexpected ride last night, he was happy as ever. He shook Fletcher's hand. "Come by the Roadhouse anytime, we'd love to have you." It wasn't necessarily a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either. He loved having _any_ hunter at the Roadhouse. Bill was doing his damnedest to make Harvelle's a hunting headquarters, but it was hard to get other hunters to take him seriously, despite the decade of hunting under his belt. Subtle bribery had fared much better. "I'll have a drink waitin' for ya."

A smile crinkled around Fletcher's eyes. "Maybe I will, one of these days."

Success. Subtle bribery wins again.

Bill smiled again. Fletcher might not take the Roadhouse seriously now, but give him—and every other hunter—time. Bill thought he just might have a chance of making his dream a reality.

John exited the john, toilet flushing behind him. The bags under his eyes were deeper than the night before. Bill was certain he hadn't slept at all, and he was grim as ever. Somehow, though, Bill liked him. It probably had something to do with the fact that John had saved his life just a few hours ago. He stepped forward, smiling, to shake John's hand. "Have to battle anything with the plunger?"

John cracked a brief smile. "If I did, it was something you left behind."

"Well." Bill laughed awkwardly, rubbing a hand on the back of his head. Showing gratitude was not a strong point of his. His head ached, reminding him how much he owed the other man. "I think I owe you a drink, John. I run a Roadhouse, Harvelle's, outside of Broken Bow. Stop by, anytime—anything you want, on the house." It was a clunky transition, a weak display of gratitude, and he knew it.

John nodded curtly. With a sinking feeling, Bill knew the 'thank you' hadn't quite been enough, but he didn't know how else to it. He wasn't good at this and—

Ellen leaned briefly on the horn. The sound was short, irritated. Just like her.

Oh, _god_ he loved her.

He looked back at Fletcher and John, smiling and shrugging. "I'd better go before she drives off without me."

The cold November air hit him hard as he exited the cabin. It had already been a rough winter, and he knew it was only going to get colder. He couldn't wait to get back to the Roadhouse. A week ago Danny, Ellen, and himself couldn't stand to be in it with each other for another second. Now he almost looked forward to the cabin fever.

At least it would be warm.

The swishing of crutches had him turned back around as Fletcher followed him out of the cabin. Bill held up a finger to Ellen, telling her it'd be a minute. He raised an eyebrow.

Fletcher looked a little shame-faced. "I know I owe you already"—Bill shrugged, shaking his head, but Fletcher persisted—"but I wonder if I could ask a favor?"

Bill was intrigued. He raised his eyebrows, shrugging his mouth. "Sure, why not?"

Fletcher pressed his lips together thoughtfully, whacking a crutch against his cast. Bill winced internally. That couldn't be good for it. "This thing'll put me outta the game for a while. After I finished here, I was going to take a look at their problem." He jerked his head back towards the cabin. "In Lawrence, Kansas."

 _Oh._ Bill nodded slowly. He could see where Fletcher was going with this. "Ellen and I could swing by it on our way back." Looks like they'd be putting off the cabin fever for a while.

Fletcher looked relieved. His shoulders relaxed, as much as they could around the crutches. "Thanks. I don't think the—whatever the hell it was—is still there, but a friend—a psychic- sent them to me and I told 'em I'd take care of it."

Fletcher's eyes were guarded, maybe even a little ashamed. He'd made a promise he couldn't fulfill. Bill didn't know the old hunter well but he knew enough to tell he didn't want to go into more detail.

Bill held up a hand to stop him. "We'll give it a look; get back to you in a couple of days."

Fletcher nodded gratefully.

Ellen fumed impatiently as Bill climbed into the driver's seat. "What'd Fletcher want?" She was twisting a strand of hair around her finger, which she only did when she was bored. Bill loved it.

He smiled as a joke came to him. "Well, Toto…" Ellen raised her eyebrows, unimpressed. He loved it when she did that. "We're heading to Kansas."

* * *

This is part of a series, remember? This particular fic might be finished, but the story is not! Next in the line up is _House of Ashes_ , which i'm still in the process of editing. I rushed Salt, Water, Ashes near the end, and I feel the story suffered for it. I want to get House of Ashes out ASAP, but I don't want to sacrifice quality for it.

I also don't want any of you to miss it, so if you enjoyed this fic hit the follow button! That way you'll be notified when I post something new!

Reviews=Motivation! Leave one!


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